In My Mind's Eye
by Sidh
Summary: Elrohir, son of Elrond is captured by Orcs. Chapter 5 up.
1. The Offering

In My Mind's Eyes

  
"The Shadow that bred them can only mock, it cannot make real new things of its own. I don't think it gave life to the Orcs, it only ruined them and twisted them." - The Return of the King  
  


____________________________________

  
  


The shadowed figure watched the Orcs scrabbling up her hill from the lip of her comfortably festooned cave. Their warbled speech grated gleefully on the stale summer wind heralding their arrival far before her yellowed eyes could pick them out of the surrounding wood. 

With the coming dawn's flavour in the air, the cave's resident was far more interested in sleeping than hosting the impending hoard but their adoration was a useful device and they selfishly vied for her attentions not imagining that she would prefer to be alone. 

Of the few scarce luxuries she enjoyed, solitude was her most precious commodity and she guarded it as a mother would her own offspring. These interruptions, however necessary they were, annoyed her.

Urn-ga sighed although it went unnoticed, as there was no other to hear, and detached herself from the shadows so they could find her. Though she knew them to be her own kind, they were of very little use to her beyond the offerings of meat and leathers lovingly handed over in thanks. Those were useful, particularly in the winter season, though she saw it more as her due than gifts. 

Urn-ga lifted her flat nose and inhaled the night air. Her keen sense of smell far outshone that of poor eyesight and she could easily make out the scent of the wounded. Orcish blood was not subtle or delicate in scent. 

Shaking her head, she exhaled a breath of frustration. Foolish males, always damaging themselves through displays of bravado or folly and often-times, both – now she would be awake most of the morning binding their hurts and brewing her potions. And because Orcs loathed the sunlight that so easily scorched and dried scaly skin, they would be lolling about her front chamber for the day as well. 

Wonderful. The perfect beginning to a long, hot day.

Most of them hadn't the sense to realize that many Orcs coming to a small, confined cave was neither wise nor comfortable. Responsibility for this downright stupidity stemmed from the fact that they were h'urk'lai or Orc-born and that made them particularly unintelligent. Only the Uruk-hai and a few of the first "born" smaller Orcs like herself maintained reasoning and free thinking – the rest were cattle. 

"We bring gift!" the first of the undistinguishable hoard announced proudly, gasping for his breath after such a steep climb. Bulky and clad in the leather and pounded metal of a foot-soldier, he smelt utterly foul. Urn-ga shuddered slightly. "Gift for you!"

"I assumed it would be for me as it is a difficult journey to make bearing a gift for another," Urn-ga responded flatly, reassured once again that her self-exile was the only logical means to maintain sanity. To be surrounded by such mindless creatures would have driven her to madness moons before, she knew.

Her sarcasm, lost completely on the witless creature, was more for her own benefit. The dull eyes of the herald gazed at her adoringly, ignorant to her disdain. "For Urn-ga!" He assured her pointedly. "Good meat. Best meat." 

"Meat?" Her curiosity was piqued, her store running short in the weeks since her last visitor had plied her with the hind-quarters of a deer. Urn-ga craned her neck around the eager male for a better look. Sniffing, she could clearly pick up the acidic taint of a blood unlike that of Orc mingled with their own. Excellent. 

"Urn-ga pleased?" the male inquired eagerly, waving his scaly arm at the bundle being drug over the sharp rocks by three of his companions, dark and indiscernible by the dim light. He drooled happily for he knew her answer would most definitely be good. 

Urn-ga dwelt more than a week's journey from the hunting grounds and it had been a difficult trip for them. The leader's arm was fair sore from doling out repeated beatings and they had lost nearly a dozen of their own to the initial fight but they had to keep it alive so it wouldn't spoil. Urn-ga didn't accept spoiled meat.

"You'll ruin the hide dragging it along like that," she accused him abruptly. The foolish ones would not think of that, of course, and she would be picking pebbles from the butchered flesh for a week. "Deer?"

"No life-giver." Life-giver? A puzzled frown marred her rough-skinned brow. What in the name of the Valar was he talking about? "Best meat," the male stammered, bowing in respect to her scolding and hunching his shoulders submissively. 

The three remaining Orcs finally ascended the last lip of the jutting plateau, dragging the heavy burden. Urn-ga wrinkled her sensitive nose at their sour sweat and took a step back. She loathed having visitors and these were the worse kind. 

Young males in the past had tried to court her affections through the usual means; carving patterns on their skin with knives, rolling in dung, and of course bearing gifts of pungent rotting animals. For whatever reason, she, unlike the others, could not be charmed by such worthy tactics. 

While she was one of them, she did not accept their society, their cultures or their rituals, memories of another time and another place still lingering in her mind. It was those memories that had driven her from the pack she had been part of, memories that told her she did not belong.

"What do you bring?" she inquired coolly, folding her arms across the coarse leather of her self-made tunic, her chin raised proudly. "And what do you seek in return?" None of her people gave favors without consequences and she would not accept the gift until she new the entirety of the bargain. 

"Urn-ga," The bravest of the three newcomers swaggered towards her, clearly confident in his sexual prowess with females. He was still near a head shorter than she was, her height one of her distinguishing features, her blood purer by many years than the monstrosity before her. "I, Kranuk, bring you rare gift in token." 

Kranuk lifted his chubby arms dramatically. It was quite obvious that he had practiced the speech many times with his limited imagination , no doubt after conferring with other males who attempted the same and failed, and his mission was clear. 

He wanted to court her. 

"I want nothing." He finished slyly. 

'A little clever for an Orc,' Urn-ga thought to herself with a smile, 'but not quite clever enough.' She pushed her tangled mass of crudely braided and knotted hair over one shoulder coyly and approached him with all the grace her body would allow. Gazing down at him, trying not to recoil at the stench of rotting blood and meat on his breath, she smiled. "What gift do you have for me then?"

The larger Orc stepped aside allowing her to view his plunder with pride. 

Roughly, he rolled what appeared to be a human onto his back with one gnarly toe. The man's clothing was nearly shredded from dragging, scraped and bloody flesh visible through it, and long black hair hid his face from Urn-ga's view. 

He appeared dead but her ears could make out the sound of weak, rasping breath that was too soft to be that of the snorting, drooling Orcs. Numerous lacerations and dark bruising covered most of what pale skin she could see – though she could see he was obviously quite young. 

"A human?" Urn-ga wrinkled her nose distastefully. "You can have it." She hadn't seen one in many years, no doubt more years than the pitiful wretch at her feet had seen in his lifetime, and neither did she desire to see them. 

Selfish, loud creatures that bred like ants and swarmed the lands seeking new places to over-run, they were one of the things she despised more than Orcs. She certainly wasn't about to roast one of them, let alone save it.

"No, no human!" Kranuk hastily amended, apparently intelligent enough to see the disapproval on her face. "Elf, I bring you elf."

"A firstborn?" Urn-ga gasped, staring at Kranuk. "But how?" She squatted over the prone figure and brushed its tangled hair aside with her rough hand, uncovering a swollen and mangled visage that might otherwise have been fair. 

His eyes were covered with the remains of hot tar, a common practice used to blind the captives, mostly permanent, sometimes not – but exceeding painful. It was often used to break the more unruly under Sauron's care. 

Urn-ga turned her focus elsewhere, though, tugging his hair aside. The tell-tale tapered ears peeped through the thick, dirt-matted tresses, giving her the positive answer to her question. "So it is," she murmured, half to herself, shock striking her. "A firstborn…"

Kranuck chortled gleefully. "I gots him good, I did. Uppity maggot," He mimed a battle blow to impress her and danced about on his bowed legs. The other three whooped in delight. It was not often they were able to subdue a full grown Elven warrior and they were near giddy with pride.

"You've done well," Urn-ga congratulated the warrior automatically, still staring at the fallen Elf. 

Though she was repulsed by the thought of eating such a thing, she was nevertheless fascinated by the offering, captivated and curious. Urn-ga had so much to ask him when he woke, 'assuming he wakes', she corrected herself silently. 

"Then Urn-ga is pleased?"

"Urn-ga is pleased," she said distractedly, tilting the Elf's face towards her, captivated by the damaged features before her. 

The Orcs exchanged knowing nudges and grunts, which brought her back to reality and she groaned, knowing that if she desired to keep the Elf alive and uneaten, she would have to be rid of her would-be wooer. 

Rising again, she towered over Kranuck, who stopped hopping in proud circles and almost quailed beneath her gaze. "You have made progress, Karnuck," she said in a content voice, then punched him solidly in the face, sending him tottering backwards. Ah, this was one of the occasions she appreciate Orc ritual. "I am pleased."

Regaining his footing, Kranuck's face split in a hideous leer and he made a clumsy gesture, which she supposed was meant to be another stage of the ritual. "Kranuck will find you greater gifts, Urn-ga!" he announced. "Then Kranuck becomes Urn-ga's mate?"

__

Valar protect me! 

While uncertain who the Valar were, she knew they were something to call upon for aid and this was certainly one of those occasions.

"We shall see," she said, striking her most imperious pose. Kranuck whooped and hooted, then bound off back across the rocks much faster than he had approached, his companions following him, leaving Urn-ga standing over her newest possession.

Bending, she grasped him by his arms and swung him up onto her shoulder. "Let us see what can be done for you, Firstborn," she growled, plodding back into the darkness of the cave, the creature's limp body barely weighing anything as she carried him.


	2. The Hunt

In My Mind's Eye

"From the North we came with this purpose, and from Elrond our father we brought this very counsel. We will not turn back." - The Return Of The King

Thank you to those who reviewed so kindly :) 

Lindlea, I hope you like what we do with them.  
Lymree, have no fear for this story is addictive to write so it should be fairly regularly updated and you'll find out more about Urn-ga soon.  
ArlenaNureem, here you go! Updated :)

____________________________

Twilight fell across the land in slow, cooling ebbs, night treading quickly upon its heels, the sky deepening to a velvet blue, spotted with stars, the curve of the moon slanting beyond the mountains to the East.

At the peak of a rocky crag, his azure eyes scanning as far as he could see, Elladan, son of Elrond's heart sank. Every way he looked, he could see no sign of his brother, too many trails left by metal-shod feet of Orcs for him to be sure of a direction.

It was his fault, he knew that his brother had been left defenceless. Always, they watched for one another, kept one another safe, yet this time... this time, he had avoided a patrol close to their borders and this time was the time Elrohir had been alone, without his twin and closest ally to aid him.

Elladan's eyes burned with tears at the thought of his brother. They had found his favoured steed, slaughtered and torn asunder by savage hands only a few hours earlier, but no sign of his twin on the lip of the Misty Mountains.

Part of him rejoiced that they had found no body, for that gave him the hope that his brother might yet live, yet his mind screamed in torment for his brother's well-being, Elrohir barely minutes younger, but still the 'little brother' in their relationship. He knew that Elrohir could not be dead. He simply _knew_.

Letting his eyes scan forth once again, he folded his arms over his chest briefly to stave of the whisper of a breeze that was whipping his hair around his face. His lip caught between his teeth, he scoured the ground ahead, searching for any trace of an Elf's presence: a fallen clasp from his robes, a knot of hair, a shoe, anything that might indicate a direction to look in.

Behind him, he heard the murmur of concerned voices and the soft jingle of his people dismounting from their horses, footsteps nigh soundless on the sparse grass and loose stone of the ridge. Turning, he looked around at them, betrayal etched on his features. "_Man le cared_?"

The tall, proud form of Glorfindel emerged from among the horses, his golden hair shining by the light of the moon. "We must rest and regain our strength, my Lord," he said with gentle authority. "We will be of no use to your brother if we are too fatigued to move."

"We will not make camp," Elladan insisted sharply. Never in his long life had he countered a single word issued by his guardian but now respect was the least of his concerns. "We will ride through the night, every moment is precious."

"My Lord?" Glorfindel admonished more than questioned. 

His young charge was over-wrought and painfully exhausted as were the men in his command, eyes shadowed and faces marked with exhaustion from days of hopeless hunting. And as they were all under his command, Glorfindel knew he would lead them, despite the son of Elrond's word. 

"We have to stop," he said with firmness. "The horses can no longer carry our weight." 

His affection for both of the twins was that of a parent and he would not see this one lose his life from driving carelessness, the exhaustion manifesting itself in Elladan a source of growing concern. When Elladan made as if to argue, he sidled Asfolath closer to the young one's mount to give more privacy to his words. 

"You must rest, Elrohir would not want you to do this."

"Elrohir would want me to find him Lord Glorfindel, that I can assure you." The twin's grey eyes were glassy with tears, "I know better than anyone what my brother would want." His irrational behavior was fueled by worry and ten days of driving fatigue. Even now, he swayed slightly on his mount's back unwilling to give into his body's complaints. 

"Elladan," Glorfindel softens his tone, reaching out to touch the younger Elf's shoulder gently. "Little one, enough, you will be of no use to your brother like this when we find him. Elrohir will need you to be strong in mind as well as body." 

It took all his strength and control for Glorfindel to say the words to the worried twin for he knew what the Orcs did to their captives on most occasions. He had been with his Lord Elrond when Celebrian had been rescued those many years before, damaged beyond the help of their most adept Healers. 

The thought caused him pain, but he knew if Elrohir still lived, he would not be the cheerful sprite they knew untouched and unsullied. 

"They took my mother's light, they will not have his," Elladan managed a whisper through his clenched jaw. 

"He is strong," Glorfindel replied in agreement. "But you will not be. Please, you must rest now. Come to the tent." 'Before I drag you off that unfortunate horse' the guardian finished silently. 

The blond warrior was certain that Elrohir lived, for Elladan would surely sense his brother's death and so they had pushed for many days and nights without rest, Elladan's desperation forcing them on. 

His brave spirit, as well as the others, would gladly ride into Mordor to rescue the much beloved heir, but all flesh had its limits, even immortal flesh. The riders were beyond exhaustion, but none would imagine to complain, even if they dropped from their horses with fatigue. 

"Come, Elladan," he coaxed once more, gently tugging the arm of the still mounted elf, his expression reassuring. It was beginning to rain, and Glorfindel felt as if Middle Earth herself wept for the parted twins. "You must rest."

"I am not tired," Elladan replied stubbornly, shrugging the hand off his arm. He glared at Glorfindel feeling betrayal, though his heart knew it not to be true. The elf lord would not rest until his brother's head lay in equal repose. 

Glorfindel's lips thinned to a narrow line. "Elladan, enough! Stop behaving like an Elfling! I can see that you are tired. Do not be foolish for you risk all of our lives through carelessness." He extended a hand to touch Elladan's arm once more, his tone gentling again. "I do not fault you the love you have for your brother, but you must see reason."

"But you should fault me Glorfindel, for that is my burden." Elladan turned his face away, unable to look at his venerable friend as silent tears coursed down his pale cheeks. Guilt lay heavy on his shoulders like an unattractive mantel, fair weighing him down both physically and in spirit. "It was my patrol, not his- he shouldn't have even been there."

Glorfindel sighed mentally. 

This self-inflicted blame tortured the dark-haired Elf mercilessly and there was little more that he could say to ease Elladan's hurt. The identical brothers were notorious for switching places, duties and pleasures to suit their needs - this time, however, it had not been without a cost. 

Elladan had begged his other half to take his patrol that he might attend to the needs of a lady he was lightly courting. It was a silly game they often played but when the few still left alive from the patrol returned, he discovered it was not with consequences this time.

"This would not be any better were your places switched," Glorfindel said seriously. 

"It would for me," came the soft reply. Elladan turned to face Glorfindel once more, raising eyes glassy with tears to the Elf Lord, tracks marked upon moonlight-dashed cheeks. "At least then, I would know him to be safe."


	3. The Awakening

In My Mind's Eye

"Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give that to them?" - The Fellowship Of The Ring

Once more, thanks go to lovely reviewers:

Crawler - don't you love the Orc-loving? :D Now, if only men were so easy to handle.

Jay of Lasgalen - I don't think I have the heart to hurt the boy too much. No, really ;-)

________________________________

Darkness.

Cold.

Pain.

Awareness returning to him, Elrohir groped clumsily for his twin's familiar touch, shivering violently at the chill in the air. His breath caught at the feel of the fabric he was lying on rasped against his shaking fingertips, rough, harsh against his naked skin, so unlike any Elven fabric he had known. His clothing provided no barrier and he knew that he lay naked under the base covering. Had he been less confused, his embarrassment would have been acute as the shy lordling did not sleep in this natural state.

No sweet smells, no omnipresent music, Elrohir knew within moments, he was not in his beloved Imladris.

Heart drumming wildly, he tried to open heavy eyes. Pain radiated from his lids and he raised his hands to his face, a whimper of panic sounding, his breathing growing ragged as he felt rags wound over his eyes. He tried to peel the cloth from his head with trembling hands, but it was securely fastened from his awkward attempts. 

"El...?" he croaked hoarsely, forcing apart swollen lips that feel they have fused together, wondering if his brother might be playing a joke, his word trailing off into aching silence. If he is, Elrohir thought, it is in very bad taste! His mouth felt dry and he could taste blood. No. This was no joke, and never were his brother's pranks so cruel. 

Carefully, he felt the platform on which he lay, mapping its contours in his mind and trying desperately to discover something, anything familer about it. It was crude, made of unfinished wood and raised from the ground, though he knew not how high. A bed then. Elrohir pushed his aching body slowly, rising carefully as though to access his wounds, and tried to swing his sore legs over the side. A foolish gesture at best as he would not know where to go were he to leave this repose. His world was limited to this cot like structure.

"I would not do that, were I you."

The rough voice, which sounded like it had not been used for many a day, caused him a burst of panic as he had not realized he wasn't alone. Swinging his head to quickly he tried to determine the location of his company. The swift movement made him nauseous and his stomach heaved in disapproval. "Who...?" Elrohir croaked.

His captor - or was it attendant? - ignored his question and repeated, "I would not try that, your ankle is broken, among other things." He could hear a snapping, dried wood if his ears were honest. 

Trying to ease his panic, his breathing still rapid and frightened, he caught the scent of woodsmoke, then some kind of strange smelling foodstuff. The smell was not bad, persay, but it was a far cry from the pleasant smelling foods of his father's table. 

Elrohir's arms trembled from the task of holding himself upright and he collapsed back onto the firm surface, unable to pull his dangling legs back up as well. She was right about that much. It hurt so badly, everything hurt. Never in the Elf's life had he been made to feel such excessive pain. Even among his own kind, he was a quick healer. 

Elrohir's mind recoiled from the unpleasantness that swept through his body, tingling numbness followed by sharp lancing pains, and mental darkness threatening to override his already physically dark state. He struggled to remain conscious, feeding desperately upon his fear for support. "Please..." It was all he could manage.

He heard a snort from his captor, wondering if they would leave him lying where he was, pain scorching to his bones, barely able to breathe, let alone move. His lungs burned with the effort of evening out ragged breaths

"I told you be still," the voice finally said, a tone of reprimand in the words. "Do as you're told or you can go back to Jarnuck, Jaruck, whatever he is called. I have better things to do than re-sew your cuts Elf."

Elrohir's thoughts hitch. Someone else had brought him here? "Jar…?"

"The Orc that brought you to me," His captor informed him succinctly. Elrohir went rigid, his fingers tightening in the fabric of the blankets. An Orc? He had been taken? By an Orc? "You are right to be afraid elf." His body trembling from the force of his fear, he lay still, shock rushing through him. An Orc? What had happened? He could recall being on patrol and then... then what? A sound? His memory waxed and waned as consciousness threatened to depart from him. Something brushed his legs, then he was swung rudely back onto the bed, a hoarse cry of pain escaping him. His guard commented dryly, "You remember him now?"

Elrohir nodded slightly, swallowing hard, his throat dry, tongue like a moss-covered stone, his memories threatening to overwhelm him. The battle, his lost friends and subsequent capture and torture trampled through his memory unbidden and unwanted and then suddenly stopped with burning tar. After that, just smells, sounds, and pain and... 

__

May the Valar protect me!

"My eyes!" he choked out in horror, recalling the pain, the burn moments before blackness had captured him. "He..."

"A useful method for prisoners, unless you are the prisoner I suppose," the voice noted, as if a passing observation.

"Useful?" he echoed in disbelief. They... his eyes... 

The gaoler snorted. "Yes, useful, keeps them from running, makes fighting back harder."

"I know what it does," he whispered. Oh, how he knew. His other senses might not be dulled, but to lose his sight was a nightmare beyond his comprehension. Elrohir's head ached fiercely, his need for moisture only emphasised when his dry lips cracked as he spoke, blood beading upon them. "I... please... d-do you have water?"

He loathed having to ask for anything and his pride suffered under her care, but she had not harmed him, that he knew of and he was so very thirsty. Pride made no nevermind anymore. This captor had seen him naked, cared for his wounds, scolded him like an elfling, explained the tidy reasoning behind his fiercest wound without compassion...and for that matter who was she?

"Such pretty manners," the voice said, marked with amusement. He could hear movements away from him, footsteps on stone, echoing? They were within a stone building? Or something else he could not identify? "You really are fortunate you know," Words continued to rasp in his ears. "Usually the Orc eat their prisoners at once. Sometimes bit by bit right in front of them." 

Elrohir felt his stomach wrench at her words, his fingers digging into the blanket beneath him, the nausea he had initially felt returning tenfold, overriding the pain and terror. His throat clicked noisily as he tried to force down a wave of bile.

Her gruesome small talk continued as a rough hand lifted his head for a drink, carefully positioning a clay bowl against his lips so it wouldn't spill. "Indeed, I heard a tale once where the captured were forced to eat their own fingers, while still attached to their hands..." 

Elrohir tried to close his ears to her words, forcing sour, stale water down his throat, then lying limply in the hopes his captor might fall silent. However, apparently relishing the tales, he was informed of numerous stories and situations with ghoulish relish for what felt like an eternity. In reality it was probably little more than an hour, but it sufficed to make him wish himself deaf instead of blinded.

Finally, tales of Orcs devouring the entrails of a still-living victim or drinking the blood from the stump of a torn tongue trailed off. He felt a hand grip his chin, then the voice spoke again. "Can you eat?" 

"No," Elrohir thought he might never eat again. 

Turning carefully onto his side, away from his guardian and drew the rough coverlet up to his pointed ears. In spite of the bindings around his face, he indulged in something he hadn't in the hundred and fifty years since he lost his mother. 

Tears.


	4. No Rest For the Weary

Crawler: Remember- when you have your fingers in his ears to stop when you feel pressure.  
  
Jay: Hey thanks for the recommendation with your yahoo group! There are a lot of twin fics under the name of Siah on Fanfic.net too. This one will be updated once a day and as we are a writing team, we are days ahead. And no twincest as its not my bag.  
  
SerifinaPekkala: Do you still have your necklace made out of Orc teeth? (Its Siah) Im co-writing this one with a REALLY excellent writer so we compromised and picked a third name- her stuff is under Fyrie and is worth a gander!  
  
Kia: Elladan is chapter 5, its already written and is one of my favorites (my writing partner rocked on that one- it even made me angsty!!!)  
  
Chapter 4  
No Rest For the Weary  
Urn-ga's hearing was excellent and very little escaped her keenest of senses.  
  
An educational conversation to inform the ignorant young one of the nature of her kind, a nice meal in her belly and the promise of overcast day had placed her in what she might have considered a pleasant mood. At least, were it not for the niggle of unrest caused by the mewling sounds wafting from her sleep platform.  
  
The Firstborn was curled in upon himself, his broken leg sticking out slightly from his body at an odd angle, the blankets drawn up to wrap around his neck and the lower half of his head. He was shaking slightly, or so the rustle of the blankets told her, but other than that he was unmoving.  
  
Undoubtedly she was not meant to hear the muffled sounds, but she did, and it was unsettling.  
  
Why this was, she did not know, or perhaps did not remember - it had been a long time since she had felt much more than apathy for any of Middle Earth's creatures, including herself, something which she had nurtured in her isolation. She did not want nor need to care for anything. Nearly as old as the mountain she now dwelled upon, Urn-ga's compassion had died long before her body ever would.  
  
Still, though, the whimpers continued, stifled by the blankets.  
  
Urn-ga scratched her tapered ear thoughtfully. Perhaps if she put some scraps of fabric salvaged from the Elf's clothes in her ears, the sounds would no longer affect her. Or she could gag him - that might work more efficiently. Whatever needed to happen for her to get some sleep was fine by her, short of death that was.  
  
Death was quite simply not an option in this situation. She had made up her mind that she didn't think killing him was what she wanted. He was a curiosity and one that she intended to peruse more closely when he recovered sufficiently. And while the quiet interruption had only started moments before, her Orcish patience insisted that she wanted her own unsettling feelings quashed NOW.  
  
Frustrated, she snorted loudly and addressed him from the far side of her cavern. "Be silent."  
  
She nodded in satisfaction when the blanket bundle shuddered violently, then ceased all sound with a shocked intake of air. Good.  
  
It was not as if he were an infant, a mewling child. After all, she had seen his naked form, slightly taller, leaner and far paler than her own, and knew - even in her isolation from others of her kind - that he was no child.  
  
It had pleased her to look upon him, although she did not know why. He was too thin, not like the thick and squatty muscled Orckind, but seemed strong enough. His pale skin was also unlike her own grayish coloring, but it hadn't been ugly persay, just sickly - though that might have been the bruising.  
  
His features were strange, also. His damaged eyes, she had cleansed as best she could, their natural colour indistinguishable, although she doubted that they were meant to be as shot with red as they were. Perhaps they would change to yellow in time, like her own, or maybe some more exotically fitting colour to match their owner's features.  
  
A straight, proud nose jutted out rather strangely from his smooth face, while hers was flat and rounder, although not without similar features when compared to her own. Unlike the common Orcs, her nostrils were still based on the underside of her nose, as opposed to the flat, gaping slits of the younger Orcs.  
  
But her favorite part was his hair, which was dark, thick and long, soft as the pelt of rabbits. Recalling the texture as she had fingered it, while patching up the young Elf, she smiled. It would probably make a nice rope as well.  
  
There was a rustling from the bed and she looked over to find the Elf's bandaged face turned in her direction, the blankets still clutched to him. He seemed to be trying to locate her, head cocking this way and that. Finally ascertaining her direction, he seemed to duck his head.  
  
"I .apologize," His voice was shaking and laced with an emotion she could not identify or recall hearing in any Orcish tone. Ah, the pride of males - a precious thing and she had infringed on it, with her command. And yet.and yet he backed down.  
  
Unusual. Very unusual that he would bare his throat to a female thus, especially when he had no idea of where he was or with whom. Urn-ga frowned. She did not understand this game he played. Unfamiliar ground made her nervous, and angry.  
  
"Why did you say that?" she demanded sharply, startled when the creature jerked back on the pallet, cringing against the wall at the anger in her tone.  
  
"I-I caused offence to you," the Elf stammered, his voice cracking as he spoke. "As your." He fell silent and Urn-ga understood why. He had no idea of what position he was being held in, captive or guest.  
  
"If you caused me offence, I would make it clear to you, Elf," Urn-ga snorted dismissively. In the dimness of the cave, she couldn't be sure but under the flickering glow of the fire, he appeared to have gone a shade whiter if it were possible.  
  
The elf looked as if he might want to say more, but bit his lip in indecision. She waited with more patience than her temper normally allowed until the nervously posed question finally came.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
Urn-ga nearly laughed at his unspoken plea in his thin voice, a voice that was weary and trimmed with pain. 'More like WHAT am I, isn't it firstborn?' she thought with some humor. "Some call me Urn-ga. That is sufficient, elf."  
  
"Urn-ga," she saw heard him softly test the word to himself, as if tasting it, seeing how it felt in that delicate mouth of his. Above the bandage, his brow seemed knitted with confusion or pain.hard to tell. As if suddenly remembering his precious manners, he quickly offered, "My name is Elrohir."  
  
"Fine Elf, fine. Be still." Urn-ga cared little for the details of his or any other's story. 'Elf" worked just fine as he was the only one here and it was unlikely there would be confusion. Dawn was already upon them, and she wanted little more than rest from her eventful night and unsettling thoughts.  
  
Prodding at the fire, she made certain all leather and foodstuffs were stored away from it, recalling the one occasion when her supplies for a week had been burnt to a cinder. There was no question of putting the flames out, as it took her many an hour to start them up again. Better to leave it burning low, than spend hours trying to re-ignite the flames.  
  
With a snort of approval, she abandoned the fire and made her way across the cave, brushing ash from her tangled hair. While she did share the nature of Orc-kind in many ways, she did not share their love of wallowing in filth, her own skin always kept as clean as she could manage with the limited supplies of water she had access to.  
  
Bathing once a month was more than enough in her opinion, though. Anything more than that was simply ridiculous. Her next visit to the small water pool nearly seven hundred paces down the mountain was not due for another week.  
  
Climbing onto the sleeping platform, she prodded the Elf. "Lie still," she ordered, giving him a less than gentle push onto one half of the narrow bed. He scrambled sideways, colliding with the wall, pressing there like a frightened animal. "If you move, you will find yourself in pain. Do you understand?"  
  
The Elf nodded his head wildly, sinking down against the rough mattress. Urn-ga nodded in approval, then lifted the blanket and lay down on the bed beside him, taking up what little space there was left.  
  
The wrench of the blankets being torn from her body by a swift-moving Elf was accompanied by the crash he made scrambling off the foot of the bed and a howl of pain as his leg struck the floor.  
  
Urn-ga released a harrumph of frustration. "I told you if you moved you would be in pain," she grumbled, climbing off the bed to check that the Elf was not bleeding on the floor. After all, it would stain the stone and she really did like the colour.  
  
Rounding the end of the bed, her hands on her hips, she looked down at the pitiful bundle of tangled blankets and dark hair that made up her house guest, she shook her head and squatted down to poke him. A low moan assured her he was still conscious.  
  
"Can you move?" A pitiful whimper sounded from the Elf's throat. "Elf?" She pulled the blankets from his head, his face contorted in pain. Prodding his shoulder, she growled again, "Elf?" He continued to moan, eyes rolling in his head. Blasted wretch. He had to make it difficult, didn't he? "El." What had he claimed his title was? "Elrohir!"  
  
The name escaped her lips as an unfamiliar bark, but served his purpose, his head turning in her direction, although his lips continued to move soundlessly, almost as if he was praying to someone or something for aid.  
  
Gradually his feeble vocalisations became audible, soft, and desperate. "Aranno nin, muindor. aranno nin... Elladan... muindor... arannon nin..." *  
  
"Babbling nonsense like a fool will not help you, nor mend your wounds, Elf," Urn-ga said grumpily, her plans for sleeping already ruined by the little wretch on the floor at her feet. "Come," Catching him by the arm, she hefted him over her shoulder once more, ignoring his gasped cry of pain.  
  
A little more gently, unwilling to spend even more time repairing the tears in his body, she tipped him back onto the bed, placing the blankets over his naked body.  
  
"This time," she added, lying down beside him. "Stay still."  
  
* "Forgive me brother. forgive me. Elladan. brother. forgive me." 


	5. Reaching Out

Thank you for all the lovely and helpful reviews everyone!  
Chapter 5 - Reaching Out.  
"Tua amin, muindor. tua amin... Elladan... muindor... tua amin..."  
  
Elladan's brother's voice begged him to respond to his call. It was barely audible, barely even comprehensible, a desperate sobbing whisper, over and over, whispering in his mind and echoing through dreams filled with smoke and shadow, like a desperate tidal wave crashing against his soul.  
  
Reaching out for his twin, Elladan at first could not reply; the fear, the pain, the anguish his brother emitted smothering his senses. Shaking and breathless, he returned his brother's call, howling into the darkness, but the dark emotions enveloping him did not fade, only intensifying.  
  
It could only mean that his words were not reaching his brother's ears, where they were so greatly needed!  
  
"Elrohir! I'm coming, I promise, I'm coming!" Elladan cried out as loudly as he dared. His arms folded upon his chest to stave off the biting chill, he stumbled blindly in the shadows, desperate to reassure his twin. "Stay strong, I'm coming!"  
  
It was like screaming into the wind, barely even audible in his own throat.  
  
'Hear me brother, by Valar, hear me.'  
  
But the gods were not with them, the gods held no answers.  
  
Elladan tried reaching out with words, screaming until he was hoarse, and when that failed, he reached out with his consciousness, willing to find his brother through any means necessary, even if it meant using his body as a tool.  
  
Foolishly, the elder twin focused his inner light to merge with his lost twin's only to be struck down by nightmarish flashes of terror and pain that sent him stumbling, crying out in horror and agony.  
  
Unmarred lips that felt they ought to be swollen and torn, moaned agonies that he now shared, both in slumber and life. His leg throbbed as though ripped asunder, as his skin was flayed to the marrow of his bones, making him writher and sob out.  
  
Even in that brief moment of contact, Elladan could sense that there was more, far more and in terror pulled himself from his twin, flinging his mental self away from the pain. So stunned was his spirit, it lay outside his body for a moment, unwilling to return until a low voice called him back.  
  
"Elladan... muindor... tua amin..."  
  
It was weaker now, softer, and somehow resigned to not being answered.  
  
His brother could not hear him! Elrohir could not hear him nor feel him, leaving them isolated from one another for the first time in their long lives! Elladan gasped as he felt his twin fading away from him, sliding - unchecked - from their bond.  
  
Despite being the elder and stronger twin, Elladan could not hold the delicate connection that was between them without his brother's added strength, however desperate he was to cling to it.  
  
It took two to form a solid grip and now. now, Elrohir's touch was loosening, too weak to sustain their union, too exhausted to try, too pained to even make any effort, too alone to take comfort from his brother.  
  
"NO ELROHIR! STAY!" Elladan's words rang out in a shrill scream as he jerked upright on his pallet. "Stay with me! Please! Muindor!"  
  
Then, there was nothing.  
  
Panting and shivering from head to foot, he looked around his dim surroundings wildly, his awareness returning that he was alone in his tent.and alone in his heart.  
  
Clutching at his throbbing chest with both hands, he was certain his heart might truly break, so hard was it trying to escape his chest, beating wildly to his breastbone. Burning tears flowed soundless and unchecked down flushed cheeks as the young warrior tried to recall the entirety of his dream.  
  
Details! He had to recall them! His brother's salvation lay in the details!  
  
"My Lord?!" Glorfindel's familiar face peered through the doorway of the tent, looking as haggard as Elladan felt, dark circles ringing his eyes, and a deep furrow upon his usually-smooth brow. Elladan stared wildly up at him, still panting, and in a heart beat, Glofindel was kneeling by his side. "Elladan, what is it?" he asked, lifting Elladan's face between his hands, staring at him intently. "Are you hurt? Child?"  
  
Grey eyes, wide and frenzied, stared at him, barely able to comprehend what Glorfindel was saying, let alone respond to it, his ability to speak captured in his closed throat.  
  
Glorfindel slid carefully to his side, shifting around the younger Elf, ignoring the brief moment when cringed as his strong arm about the younger Elf's trembling shoulders and pulled him into a paternal embrace.  
  
Long moments passed before he could exchange more than choking sobs, the lingering traces of pain in his consciousness making him shudder. Weary and for the first time, alone - he leaned into the strong hands methodically stroking his long hair.  
  
"Elrohir called for me," he explained in a halting whisper, voice roughened by tears as he spoke. "He. he showed me." Elladan could not explain. No. More than that. Even though Glorfindel was one of his father's most trusted allies, he would not explain.  
  
"Showed you what Elladan?" Glorfindel questioned him softly, lifting his face. The blond's voice wavered as though he hesitated hear the response as strongly as Elladan feared to describe it.  
  
He couldn't understand. No one would or could.  
  
Elladan and his brother had always shared a connection, sometimes mental, which had oft lead to embarrassing incidents at formal gatherings, when their mirth would grow too great, but also to his terror, this time physical as well. Yes, they had shared physical sensation before, but nothing so sharp and harsh as that which he had just felt.  
  
Shaking his head, trying to rid himself of the lingering ghosts, Elladan rubbed his hands up and down his upper arms, shivering. He imagined he could still feel wounds Elrohir 'showed' him, and yet he knew his brother held most of it back, hid it from him, not let him actually see.  
  
There was something horrifying he had not shared, but what?  
  
"We must find him Glorfindel," he said, softly but insistently. "He is alive. but hurt and afraid. so very afraid." He stared imploringly up at his leader. "I. we have to leave now. Please."  
  
Truth be told, Elladan expected more of a fight, but Glorfindel merely nodded in agreement and responded, "I will break camp." 


End file.
